Atonement
by Ana Sedai
Summary: Death always leaves business unfinished or words unsaid. Peter has to deal with both.


**Atonement**

**Author**: Ana Sedai

**Summary**: Death always leaves business unfinished or words unsaid. Peter has to deal with both.

**A/N**: Spoilers for Spiderman 3 (like anyone reading this won't have already seen it anyway.) If anyone had told me last week that I'd be writing a fanfiction for Spiderman, I would've backed slowly away and called for the guys in white coats. What can I say? The end of the movie had me in tears. I'm still not sure how worried I should be about that. In any case, here is my way of handling it.

* * *

Guilt was no stranger to Peter Parker. It was in almost-constant companion, actually. _If I'd been a bit faster…smarter…better, this wouldn't have happened._ Yes, he'd saved lives, a lot of them. But that was the kicker, wasn't it? Once you started saving some, eventually you felt you had to save them all. And when he couldn't, as he'd all-too-quickly learned was impossible, the doubts had started gnawing away at his psyche like vicious rats. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough. 

He couldn't live like that. He would've gone insane. So, he'd made a deal with himself. He'd be the best person he could be, the best Spiderman he could be, and try not to second-guess himself when things just went wrong. It worked, for the most part. The good press had helped (more than he'd care to admit, actually), but M.J. had been his saving grace. She was the one who gave him a smack upside the head when she felt he was taking too much on himself. And even if he hadn't before, he would've loved her for that alone

He'd gone to sleep at night with few regrets. But that little voice in the back of his mind, the one that kept whispering, _"you could have done more", _was always there, waiting.

* * *

Peter sat in the front row at the graveside service, starting blankly at the closed coffin. The priest was reciting the last prayer, the overcast sky an appropriately somber backdrop. _This isn't right._ Harry's butler, Houseman, placed a single white rose on the lid and backed away, his stiff posture belying the tears in his eyes. _This can't be right._ M.J., her face pale and drawn, kissed her fingers and pressed them onto the wood. A final goodbye. _This wasn't supposed to happen._

The three most important men in his entire life were now gone, and they had all died in his arms. And he hadn't been able to do one damned thing to save any of them. Harry was the worst, though. He felt more responsible for Harry than for Norman, or even for Uncle Ben. He wouldn't have been able to save M.J. on his own. He held no illusions about that. But he'd been the one to ask Harry for help. Some of their last real words to each other had been spiteful and bitter, and Harry's last days had been spent with a scarred face. Because Peter hadn't been strong enough to overcome his pride and greed. And in the end, Harry had put himself between Peter and the glider, and now he owed him a debt that he would never be able to repay. He'd never know if they could've been friends again. He'd never be able to make up for the pain that he had caused. He'd never be able to ask for forgiveness.

Everyone began to leave, M.J. included. She hadn't spoken to him since that night, and while he ached at the thought of losing her, he was grateful for the time alone. He'd have been no good to anyone else, anyway. Eventually, he was the only one left at the grave. He knew he had to leave. But more than even when Harry had died in his and M.J.'s arms, this was the end. And he couldn't let go. Not yet.

He hadn't been able to say it all. There'd been no time. And this was his last chance. He cleared his throat, hoping he could get out what he wanted to say before it closed up again.

"Hey, Harry. It's Pete. I, uh, guess you're wondering what I'm doing, standing here talking to your coffin and all. I don't even know if you hear me or not. I just…wanted to say a few things, stuff I never got around to before, well, before it all went to hell. Thought maybe it would help a bit, though I'm not too sure if anything ever will."

He stopped and angrily brushed away the tears that were snaking down his face. _Damn it, I _will_ do this!_

"First off, I wanted to say thanks. For everything." The corner of his mouth quirked up a bit. "Okay, maybe not for trying to blow me up and slice me in half. Could've done without that. But you know what I mean. I'm not sure I would've survived high school without you. To this day I can't figure out how a rich kid like you and a broke science nerd like me ended up friends, but I'm grateful that we did.

Peter's voice got stronger as he went on. "I also wanted to say how proud I was of you. I still had my Aunt May after Uncle Ben died. You had no one after your dad was gone. But you pulled yourself up, and you ran his company. Doc Ock notwithstanding, you did a good job. Bet you didn't know I followed the business news, huh? I always thought it was boring as hell, but you loved that stuff."

He smiled fondly. "I remember we were about twelve, and your dad caught us going through this spreadsheet project he'd been working on. I'd wanted to use it for paper airplanes, but you just wanted to read the stupid thing. He was so impressed with you that he forgot to punish us. He kept saying how proud he was that his business would be in such good hands. I was proud of you too, because I knew you'd do something great one day."

His voice broke again, got thicker. "Last, I want to say how sorry I am. I'm sorry about your dad. I'm sorry I never trusted you enough to tell you the truth. I'm sorry I never tried to find out how angry and lost you were." He was talking fast now. "I'm sorry I said those awful things to you. I'm sorry I used our friendship to hurt you. I'm sorry I got you killed…"

His voice and legs gave up at the same time. Dropping to his knees, he let it out. The sadness, the anger, the pain, the guilt. He thought he was vomiting up every emotion he'd felt for the last three days onto the ground beside him. Tears poured out of eyes that had been too dazed with grief since that night to cry at all. During all of it, that same damn voice in his head was screaming, _"Why? Why?! WHY?!"_

His shoulders were shaking so hard that, at first, he didn't feel the hand on them. When he felt his arm squeezed lightly, he turned his tear-streaked eyes up to meet M.J.'s. Her face was full of her own sorrow, but she was still worried about him. "Peter?"

He rubbed his hand over his face and swallowed hard. "Yeah?" He tried to keep his voice steady, but it still sounded water-logged.

She knelt in front of him and held his face in her hands. "Peter Parker, I told you once that no matter how much danger being with you put me in, you had to respect my choice to accept that danger. I accepted it because I thought it was worth it, because I thought _you_ were worth it. Harry knew the danger. He accepted it, because he thought you were worth it too, and because he thought _I_ was worth it. And I have to live with that. I'll have regrets for the rest of my life. But I respect _him_ enough to accept that it was his choice as well. He'd want you to do the same."

With that, she let her hands drop, rose, and walked back the way she'd come. She didn't wait for his response. Honestly, he didn't think there was anything he could say to that. He shakily got to his feet, steadying himself on a corner of the coffin. _She always did have a way with words._ Peter wasn't sure if that was his own voice, or Harry's. He decided it didn't matter. _Yes, she does._

M.J. was right. She was always right about things like this. He squared his shoulders and forced down the bitter lump in his throat. The grief was still there. So were the sadness and pain. They probably always would be. But the guilt, at least, was lessened slightly. That was enough for now. It was time. He pressed his forehead to Harry's casket. _I'll miss you, buddy. See you later. _And then he walked away.

He didn't look back.

* * *


End file.
